


Unfinished Prompts and Works

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Cleaning Out My Drive (MCU only) [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brain Damage, Coping, Fluff, Gen, Grief, Halloween, Off Screen Death, Synesthesia, tasting words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:12:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: This will be an ongoing piece, just a place to put all the orphaned prompts and things I've lost the plot to. Each chapter will be completely stand-alone and unfinished, and will have a basic synopsis at the beginning to explain.





	1. Synesthesia

1 - Where Bucky ends up having synesthesia and can taste words.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky doesn’t remember much between pulling the man who called himself Steve Rogers out of the Potomac and waking up in the antiseptic-soaked, white-washed room. It seemed a dream to him. Blurs of people, cities, lights swirling by in a mess of color. Metal held in his hands, one hot and one cold as steel. A phantom touch, a blood-soaked stare. A struck bell, a desperate shout that still tolls through his tortured head, that screams his name over and over again until he has to talk to himself to keep it at bay.

At least the muttering kept the curious onlookers away from him. That was a benefit he didn’t expect. No one likes the barely-washed crazy man living in a dumpster.

But there was no dumpster anymore. He sat, inert, on the white sheet covering the foam mattress and contemplated his left hand. A soft knock on the door barely registered in his head, but he said “Come in” anyway. In hindsight, that might not have been a good choice, once he got a good look at who knocked.

The man who called himself Steve Rogers, whom he knew now was actually Steve Rogers, slid the door shut behind him and stood in the entryway at parade rest. His eyes rested everywhere and nowhere near Bucky’s bed. “Hi, Bucky.”

He hasn’t had visitors since coming here. If he had, he would have been ready for the sudden feeling of wrongness overwhelming him. Something was wrong. Something was off. He swallowed, and the sensation intensified. He glared at Rogers. “What do you want?”

The fleeting expression of hurt and confusion that ghosted over Roger’s face lasted only a second or so. “I want to talk to you.”

Bucky growled as the sensation grew stronger still. It was like something was at the back of his throat, tickling and twinging his taste buds. A familiar taste, but unfamilar at the same time. “Go away.” He had to make this stop. That bell was ringing in his head again -  _ Bucky! _ \- and he didn’t want it there. The voice and the taste was pissing him off. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Buck -”

“I said  _ go away _ !” Bucky threw the closest available projectile at Rogers’ head. As a weapon, a foam pillow was as useless as a piece of paper, unless you held it right. It’s enough to get the man that was making Bucky taste buttered popcorn every time he opened his mouth to leave.

Blessed silence. Thank God.

But the bell tolls on. At least that he could tune out. He started to contemplate his left hand again as he talked out his newest problem with himself and the walls around him.

He knew where he was now, because an orderly who tasted like berries told him. The pretty nurse who came in at noon for his daily blood draws never spoke to him, and he didn’t try to guess what she tasted like. He asked to see a computer, but they told him no in words that reminded him of borscht and paper and lemons. He couldn’t figure out if what was going on with him was a kill order gone sideways or a stroke, but his doctors told him he’d be fine, that it would go away after a while. 

It didn’t.

It wasn’t unpleasant anymore, now that he knew that words were causing the sensations. He could recognize some of the tastes, and he would tell his head-shrinker about them every day. He wanted Rogers to come back so he could explain himself. Every time he thought about Rogers, though, that bell would toll. But when Natalia -  _ Natasha Romanov, now  _ \- walked into the room, he stopped playing chess with himself and dumped the pieces on the floor. He gestured at them. “Wanna play?”

Natalia nodded once, but kept her mouth closed.

They set up the board and started to play. 


	2. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark has watched Pacific Rim. And you KNOW he's got ideas. Also, Steve's a dumbass.

“This is ridiculous, Tony.” Pepper tossed down the stack of papers and relocated her hands to her hips. “You can’t just...” She shrugged in place of saying what, exactly, Tony couldn’t ‘just’ and why it was ridiculous. Sure, he’d watched Pacific Rim  _ maybe  _ a few hundred times since it came out. For the sake of the argument he’ll go out on a limb and say that hanging upside down from the rafters of his workshop while humming the theme from the movie and tinkering with a moderately sized arc reactor that was going to power the mini-Jager he was trying to build in the wee hours of the morning while he was still jacked up on coffee and something he’d found in his cabinet while searching for said coffee was probably a bad course of action. And yeah, allocating certain funds that were earmarked for restoring Long Island’s beachfront after he and Thor went a few rounds with Abomination last week was probably an even worse one.  He flipped the welding helmet visor up (or down, depending on your angle) and gave Pepper his best ‘you are ruining my vibe’ look. Judging by her blank stare, that look wasn’t as effective while he was upside down. 

He kicked off one of the support beams and flipped himself upright in the rigging, then lowered himself down to the ground. “Pep. Come on. It’s Halloween! You gotta get into the spirit of the holiday. Candy, costumes, playing tricks on old folks, creepy old people handing out stale candy from last year...Costumes, Pepper! One day out of the year I get to dress up!” Pepper didn’t throw the heavy paperweight her hand curled around, but it was a near thing. Tony knew these things. He raised his hands, a torch still clamped in one fist. “In something other than monkey suits or the armor.”

“Tony!”

“Pepper, please.  _ Please _ . It’s one day, I promise I’ll donate it to the Smithsonian afterwards. I’ll even double the donation I normally make.”

“Tony, you have a meeting in three hours. You haven’t slept since you shot out of the living room shouting something along the lines of ‘Eureka!’ after rewatching that damned movie for the eleventh time with Clint.” Pepper had her ‘executive Mom’ voice going, and it scared him because he knew he’d cave. But he couldn’t, not this time. He tried his patented - stolen from Cap - hang-dog look.

“That’s it. I’m calling Rhodey.” She pulled her phone out and stabbed the speed-dial.

“Y’know, you could just say his name, and Jarvis would call him for you.” Tony tossed the welder onto a table and shook his gloves off his hands before wrapping his hands around Pepper’s hips. “Love the skirt. New?”

She smirked, but didn’t put the phone down. “You bought it for my birthday.”

Tony nodded. “I have great taste. I know what you like.” 

Just as Pepper’s face lit up - which meant she got a hold of Rhodey and god damn Tony was in so much trouble since it was Friday and he got the idea for the arc reactor augmentation on Wednesday whoops), the workshop door banged open. Pepper’s face fell. Tony whirled around, expecting something he’d have to beat up or sue. He didn’t expect Captain America. Certainly didn’t expect an out-of-breath Cap. And Tony sure as hell didn’t expect to see Bucky Barnes right behind him, just as wheezy and red-faced. But there they were, panting with their hands on their knees and identical expressions of regret on their faces. It was gross but also gratifying. At least, Tony felt gratified. He took a quick photo of the tableau with his phone for blackmail purposes.

 

Pepper was a bundle of nerves, babbling at both men as Rhodey tried to get her attention through the phone and Cap and Freezerburn’s lungs caught up with them. Bucky was trying to wave her away, but he was incapable of speech. Tony grabbed the phone from her hand and put it on speaker. “Rhodey, my man. You are on.”

“What’s happening, Tones? Pepper called me, she’s freaking out about something. You sound alright, I guess.”

Tony shrugged as he watched Rogers and Barnes finally collapse on the concrete floor. “I don’t know, but Cap and his buddy look like they took a couple laps around the world at Mach 5.”

Rhodey laughed. “Pretty sure the State Patrol would have pulled them over -”

“On foot.”

Rhodey paused. “Oh.”

Bucky groaned from where he’d gone spreadeagle. “We’ve got a week until Brooklyn goes batshit for Halloween, and Stevie here -” He slapped Steve on the shoulder, and Steve tipped over onto his side with a whimper, “decided that switching identities for a day would be the perfect costume. Problem is, he came up with this idea not one hour ago and took off like a shot when he got it. I chased him here.”

Tony grinned and pointed at Pepper. “I’m not the only nutjob around here, yay!” Then he frowned. “Where did you get this idea?”

Steve groaned. “My legs hurt so bad.” Bucky slapped his chest and he groaned again. “Ow, Buck.”

“Dumbass, you left your Harley at the diner. Someone’s gonna lift that beauty, and you are gonna be pissed. At least you left money for the bill and a tip.”

“You followed me and left yours too, numbnuts,” Steve muttered. 

“I had t’make sure you didn’t get your ass flattened by a car! You could have used the Harley. Instead, you ran from Edison.”

Tony stared. That sounded familiar.

“It’s in Jersey.” Bucky glanced at Tony, then poked Steve in the side. “All for a fuckin’ metal arm, you meatball.”

Tony turned to Pepper and pointed. “At least I don’t do that!”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “So there isn’t an Avengers emergency, Captain Rogers?”

Steve lifted his head and stared at Pepper. “Don’t be silly. That, I would have grabbed the Harley for. Dammit, that bike’s got a repulsor flight system Tony put in, why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

“‘Cuz you weren’t born with the sense God gave horses?” 

Steve cracked Bucky in the stomach with an elbow, and Bucky started laughing. Steve rolled away, onto his stomach. “The only emergency was me nearly getting creamed by a FexEx truck on the I-95. Bastards need to use their blinkers. Tony, I need a metal arm, and Bucky needs one of those nano-mirage thingies so that he doesn’t have a metal arm anymore.”

Tony continued to point at them. “And I make sense while I’m doing whatever nutzo thing comes to my mind!” 

“Don’t point, it’s rude,” Steve muttered. 

He turned back to Steve. “And since you two moved back to Brooklyn, Rogers, you’ve gone native again.”

“I have not.” Steve rolled back over and ended up on his back, arms splayed out, one palm on Bucky’s thigh. “Bucky has. I haven’t.”

“Shaddup, meatball.” Bucky smacked Steve on the chest. “You have and you know it.”

“This is good. I like this.” Rhodey laughed. “I don’t think I see a problem here. Pepper, I gotta get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.”   
“Rhodey, Tony hasn’t slept in days and he’s trying to make one of those giant robot things for Halloween!” Pepper ran over and snatched the phone from Tony’s hand, taking it off speaker as she whisked it away. “Do something! He’s going through that ‘I’m not listening to anyone because I’m 5 and I can do whatever I want’ stage again.”

“For the record, I am not 5, and I  _ can _ do whatever I want because I am not 5, I am an adult. Jarvis, I am an adult and can set my own sleep schedule, right?”

“That is correct, sir.” 

“Jarvis, you sound as exasperated as ever. Never change.”

“I will endeavor not to, sir.”

Pepper glared at him. “Rhodey, you know what movie I’m talking about. The one with the giant robots and the reptile creatures and - yes! That’s the one. Tony is building a - what did you call it? Jager. Yes. God, that sounds like an alcohol. Anyway, can’t you talk him out of it?”

“No, he can’t because I’m almost done with it!” 

“What do you mean, no way?” Pepper definitely did not scream. “No, you can’t see it! He’s not going to wear it anywhere!”

Tony turned to Steve again. “A little help here?”

“If it includes lifting heavy things, have Bucky do it. He’s the one that skipped arm day at the gym yesterday.”

Bucky stopped mid-stretch. “What? That was yesterday?”

“Don’t give me that, soldier. You have a schedule, I’ve seen you with it.”

“Gid-outta here.” Bucky huffed and pushed to his feet. 

Steve stayed right where he was and pointed at him. “See what I mean? True blue Brooklynite, right there.”

“Rogers, I need you to be on your feet, because I’m going to measure you, and then you are going to help me put this reactor into my Halloween costume.” Tony turned on his heel and went back to his planning table.

  
  
  


Three hours later, Tony had his Jager, Steve had the schematics for a metal arm floating in the air around his head, and Bucky was sitting at one of Tony’s workstations with a soldering iron in his fleshy hand. He had the Soviet blueprints for  _ his _ arm in the air in front of him as he poked and prodded at the open access panel on the back of his hand. 

“See, I would have thought the schematics would be in German,” Tony said, twirling a laser pen between his fingers.

“The originals were.” Bucky shrugged. “I went through probably four of them. First two I gouged out with broken glass, metal, my fingers - whathaveya.”

Both Tony and Steve stared. Bucky shrugged again. “What? They hurt, and I wanted the pain to stop. After a while, it gets so numb you don’t even feel it. Made it easy.”

“And this one?” Steve pointed at Bucky’s arm, and Bucky smiled. 

“Pain’s not so bad.”

“So. Other than designing a completely different arm that won’t hurt, any ideas for making Bucky’s arm disappear.” Tony rubbed the back of his head with a grimy towel. “You are thinking something like Natasha’s mask, right?”

Steve nodded, clearly not trusting his voice after the bomb Bucky dropped in his lap.

Tony really pitied him. He kept on task. “That’s S.H.I.E.L.D tech, but I can rig something together.” He looked over at Bucky. “What are you doing, Barnes?”

Bucky grunted. “There’s something in here that’s supposed to cloak this thing. Somehow. Not sure how it works.” He poked something with the tip of the iron and yelped. “That ain’t it! God damn, that smarts.” He shook his head vigorously. “That was attached to something. The inside of my brain is fizzing.”

“What? You can’t feel your brain! No one can feel their brain.” Tony snatched the iron away. Bucky grinned.

“Sure feels like I can now. Another jolt like that, and I’ll be able to smell blue and do complex theoretical physics.”

Tony stared at Bucky. “Are you sure you are sane?”

Steve held up the strip of metal he’d been toying with. “I like this metal, it bends easy and is lightweight. I think this will work for my arm.”

Tony transferred his stare to Steve. “Despite the clearly aesthetically pleasing bit of art you have created, Rogers, I’d like to state that the metal you have turned into a - giraffe, lovely, Pep would love to have that on her desk - isn’t exactly easy to bend. Or light. You are just ridiculously strong.” He sighed. “How did you two make it to adulthood, honestly?”

“Luck?” Steve shrugged. 

“Balls. Steve had a lot of balls.” Bucky leaned forward to pick up a voltmeter. “Tell him about Father MacDonald and the incense thingamajigger.”

Steve blushed, and Tony felt like he might be outnumbered by the crazy in the room. Cray-cray and apparently little rat thieves. “Steve, I am very disappointed in you.” He flicked one display after another over his worktable and studied them. 

“Hey, I returned it.”

“After you slipped the cuffs again.”

“I don’t think that is helping your cause, Captain Thief.” Tony found what he was looking for and let his brain go to work, ignoring the banter between the two super-soldiers. If he could get the parts out of the mess of shit in the corner, because he knows he has them, then he could have this thing built in less time than it would take to get a pizza. He dove to the pile of what Pepper called ‘junk’ but he called ‘inspiration’ head-first, a child let loose in Goody Goody Gumdrop with his mother’s credit card. He could hear the muttering such a move created in his guests, but he could not be stopped from his quest to find things in the inspiration pile. After a moment, new voices joined the din, followed by a distinctive ‘What the fuck are you wearing?’ from Bucky. Tony closed his hand around the bit he needed. “Eureka.”

“Is that a real pig?”

Tony tumbled backwards in shock, trying to jerk his head around to see if there was a god damned pig in his workshop. The answer to that question was yes. There was, indeed, a real live pig in his workshop. How it managed to get past security boggled Tony. Another issue was stairs, because he’d bet a few stocks that pigs didn’t actually climb stairs, and the elevator was out of the question because he’s  _ had _ this conversation with Pepper after the construction worker debacle. Then he saw Clint. “And suddenly, everything makes total sense. Barton, why in the name of everything good in this hateful world is there a food product in my workshop?”

Clint had the audacity to flutter his eyes and wiggle his tongue around the length of honest to God straw hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “She’s my prop. And her name is Miss -”

“You did not name it Miss Piggy!” Steve yelped. “You did not.”

Clint snorted. “Damn right I did.”

Tony stared as the pig started rooting around, snout to ground, coming closer and closer to where he sat, splayed out. “Does it bite?”

“She might, if you keep calling her ‘it’.” Natasha was sitting on one of the tables, one leg crossed over the other. It took Tony a moment, a moment that Bucky didn’t need. Bucky Barnes barked out one loud laugh before he collapsed completely onto the ground, gasping for air. Tony just blinked. His mouth opened. No sound came out. Clint grinned around his straw, decked out in denim overalls and flannel and a god damned trucker hat emblazoned with ‘John Deere’. And Natasha? Was a cow. Udders and all.

“I’m trying.” Steve cackled. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around… oh God.” He couldn’t stop laughing long enough to help Bucky, who was hiccuping now and trapped on his back. Tony shook his head. 

“I should be thankful you didn’t try to bring a live cow into the Tower, you freak.” 


	3. Car Ride Part Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another riff on the 'car ride from hell' in Civil War.

Sam is uncomfortable.  
He could blame it on the company. Steve and ‘Bucky’ haven’t said a damn word since they got in this clown car from hell. The silence is not golden, nor is it easy. Steve’s clearly waiting for his old buddy to say something, anything at all. Barnes is clearly refusing to cater to poor Steve’s wishes. He’s sitting stiff-backed in the passenger seat, keeping his head straight and eyes out on the cars around them. Steve’s hands grip the steering wheel. Sam is seriously wondering what these two have against steering wheels, honest to goodness.  
Minutes turn into hours. Steve’s memorized the directions, but Sam pulls out his phone before he realizes why Steve memorized them instead of using his own phone. Despite what people tease him for, he’s a whiz when it comes to tech. “No WiFi.”  
Steve snorts in the driver’s seat. “No data, either. Burner phones.”  
“Great.” So, Steve can talk at least. Sam smiles and thinks he can start a conversation. But then Barnes mutters something, and Steve’s entire world narrows down to the shaggy man in the passenger seat. Sam wants to strangle him, as bad as that sounds. Bless him, but he’s a jealous sort. Barnes mutters louder, but not legibly. And now Sam is wondering if he should bail in case the Asset comes back out, or help Steve and possibly die.  
Steve ventures. “What did you say, Buck?”  
Barnes sighs. He actually sighs like the whole world is out to frustrate him. “Nothin’, bud. Eyes on the road, that truck’s gonna swerve.” As Steve maneuvers through that mess about to happen, Sam burrows needle stares into the passenger head rest. At least he talked. Nothing constructive, but he has a voice.  
Sam’s world descends back into silence. Two hours of two soldiers breathing in front of him, two hours of mutters and half-voiced curses. It’s like those two are trying to drive him insane. He lasts those two hours by playing Snake on his phone. He counts from one thousand backwards, forwards, by twos and threes and sevens. He kicks the seat once, just to see Barnes react. He doesn’t. He kicks Steve’s, and Steve turns around to flash a cheeky ass grin at him. Sam grins back.  
“Bored back there?”  
“Rather be flying.”  
And here is where it gets interesting. Because that’s when Sam realizes that 'Bucky' wasn’t even there until that moment. Because Bucky - not Barnes nor the Asset, but the ghost of those two men combined - makes an amused snuffle. “Do not let that asshole into a plane, Wilson. Not if you’re in it, not if you value your life. Because he will invariably crash that shit into whatever body of water he can find.”  
Steve groans, “Bucky!”  
“No, I’m not kidding.” He sounds half-awake and amused. And Sam realizes that Barnes - Bucky - hadn’t responded to the seat kick because he was asleep. He trusted Sam at his back. Wasn’t that something. “That man right there? He’s attracted to water. It calls to him, like he’s Nemo or some shit. He’s a mermaid. A seal, I dunno.” The seat creaks as he shrugs. “Not even joking, he falls into any body of water he’s near. Sit him on the edge of a bathtub once and pour a cup of water into it. I shit you not, he will fall in.”  
“Bucky.” Now Steve sounds aggravated. Sam is reveling in this. He is a petty man, and he’s fuckin’ reveling. “Stop.”  
“No. No flying anything more than one of those RC planes for you, Rogers. Even that, you’d probably dump into the Danube.” Bucky twists in his seat and plants his steel blue eyes on Sam. “Lemme tell you about the Danube, Wilson.”  
“Not the Danube!”  
“Yes, Steve. Shut up and drive. I gotta tell Wilson this before I forget.” That punches Sam in the gut. “See, me’n Dum Dum got this idea that we were going to swim. It was summer, and it was sweltering. Hottest summer on record for them, and goddamn if there wasn’t a war on. Made everything twice as hot and worse to bear. Now, Gabe told us…” And he launches into a story that could have been made up if not for the fact that Sam himself has been chased into a pond by a gaggle of angry geese. But never with full battle gear. And never alongside Nazis. Steve’s protests grow more strident the further Bucky gets into it. And at the culmination, Bucky is nearly in tears because of his laughter. Sam is crying, and not just from laughing. Bucky sounds human. He sounds happy with the memories. That’s the worst part of this whole ordeal. He still has happy memories.  
“And Captain fuckin’ America nearly drowns just like that, with a goose sitting on his head and another biting his ass!” Bucky barks between laughs. “He’s gulping water and trying to scream, and the Nazi fuck right next to him is trying to knock the goose offa him, and Dum Dum’s got his Nazi in an armlock trying to drown _him_ , and I’m just dying of laughter on the shore. The lieutenant next to me is jabbing at his radio, and I ask him what he’s doing. He’s trying to call an airstrike! On geese!”  
It’s the kind of war story that has the people around you shocked and awed at how there could be such hilarity during such a trying time. Sam’s still crying, but now he’s silently crying for all the war stories Riley had. He is crying for so many reasons that his head’s spinning. He grips the seat and holds on as it ravages him and leaves him empty. After a few minutes, he gasps out one last breath and lets everything leave him.


	4. Peashooters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does what it says on the tin.

Steve wakes with a start.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Tony’s above him, holding an acetylene torch in one gloved hand. “Wanna have fun?”

“Christ almighty.” Steve blinks. “Is the torch involved?”

“Ooooh, kinky.” Tony turns away. “But no. Well, yes.” He pushes a cart out of the way, tools rattling around on the metal surface. “But not in the way you are thinking.”

“I’m not thinking.” Steve sits up, wincing when his back complains. “There is no way a torch can even factor into that sort of fun.” 

“Depends on what you’re into, Capsicle.”

“And again, I’m saying no.” Steve needs to stop having these conversations with Tony. “I don’t even want to know what gutter your mind is currently in.”

Tony moves out of his line of vision, and Steve doesn’t want to aggravate whatever muscle he’s pulled in his neck to follow. Tony’s voice lets him know where he’s gotten off to. “No gutters for me today. Just knowledge. Also, not sexy fun, though that could be on the table if you are interested. I promise no torches. But not right now, I’m making guns.”

Steve pauses in scrubbing his hair. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“But it can be.”

“Which government, and how much?” Tony doesn’t make guns anymore. Steve thinks he’s being blackmailed into it, but the reason is eluding him. It’s also possible he’s reading far too much into it, or his brain isn’t processing yet. “Do you have coffee?”

Tony’s hidden behind a hulking shell of titanium alloy, and sparks are flying. “That is a horrible question, Cap. It’s like you don’t trust me. Of course I have coffee! Machine in the corner by the spot welder. And unless we have become our own micronation, I’m not making weapons for a government.”

“Why do we need guns, then?” Another question comes to mind. “Can we become one?”

“A micronation? Sure. I can make the Tower its own sovereign land.”

“So we’d need a military.”

“Sure. Well, no. Maybe. Yeah.”

Steve gets to his feet. “Why am I sleeping in your workshop? We need guns for the military. I think I get why you are making guns, now.” He doesn’t get it, but whatever, he needs coffee.

“You and Mr. Freeze can be the military, and neither one of you need guns. If you want one, I can get one for you.” Tony sticks his head, welding helmet and all, above the metal shell. “You passed out here a few hours ago after complaining about Bucky and Clint playing HALO in your living room because they broke their television. We are getting off topic.”

“We are? I thought we were talking about guns.”

“Peashooters, Cap.”

Steve stops. “Peahooters?”

“Yeah!” Tony flips the visor up. “Peas. Dry peas. Air compressed BB guns, altered by yours truly. Might need body armor.”

Steve needs coffee, and so does Tony. He makes a beeline for the coffee machine and pours a couple cups. “What time is it?”

Tony shrugs. “Does it matter? By the end of the hour, we will have either a massacre or a fully-functional peashooter army at our disposal.”

Steve blinks, his mug halfway to his lips. “Tell me you don’t have drones armed with peashooters from hell?”

“I do not have drones armed with peashooters from hell.” Tony says. “They have the normal ones.”

“Lord give me strength.” Steve sighs. “Alright.”

“Alright what?”

“Do you have a working prototype?”

Tony fistpumps. “Knew you’d come around to my side, buddy! As a matter of fact, I do have one.”

\---------

“I told you, I’m pretty much the best at HALO.”  
Bucky growls. “Asshole.”

Clint grins. “The original asshole. You love me.”

“No I don’t. I tolerate you for the great sex and horrible coffee.” Bucky spins his mug on the table. It’s tipped on one precarious edge, a blur of life-sustaining fluid and ceramic. “Not love.”

“Aw.” Clint plops another glob of pancake batter into the pan. “But I’m making you pancakes!” 

“You are making your DOG pancakes. You are letting me have one because you feel bad that I suck at video games. Which is an erroneous assumption since I do not suck.”

“You use big words when you are defeated, Barnes.”

“Your mom uses big words when she describes my cock.”

Clint cackles. “Gotta make it sound better than it is, y’know!”

Bucky is just about to rally when a sting blossoms on the back of his neck. Immediately, his hand slaps at it, instinctively worried about darts or remote-controlled bees - hell, who knows what Antman is capable of when he’s drunk and looking to pick a fight - and is proud when he doesn’t freak out. His fingers aren't blood covered when he looks at them.

Then Clint yelps, and Bucky smiles. The next second has him making a similar noise when another sting gets him on the back of his head. "Goddamn it!" He turns around to spot whatever the hell is hitting him. And wouldn't you know it - Steve Rogers is standing in the doorway holding what looks like a paintball gun from hell. And he's got a shiteatting grin on his face. "Rogers. What do you think you are doing?"

In response, the little shit lifts the gun and takes a shot at Clint, who just stands there and lets him. Clint grunts and slaps his hand to his chest, to the right of his heart, and fists his hand. Bucky thinks he's about to make a dramatic death scene right there at the stove. Instead, he opens his hand and shows Bucky the small green pellet - no, a pea. Bucky's eyes widen. He stares at Steve in shock. 

"Who the hell was crazy enough to let you near a damned peashooter?"

Steve shoots him with a grin on his face.

"Stop that!" Bucky tries to bat the pea out of the air, missing by a second and getting it on the neck. "You shithead."

Steve laughs. "Tony made it."

"Of course he did." Clint groans. "He's the devil. "

Steve laughs again. "He's got more if you guys want to have a war. Or y'know, start out own micronation."

"What." Bucky groans. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Really?" Clint perks up. "You have my attention."

Bucky groans again. "No. Absolutely not. We are not becoming a micronation."

"Why not? It'll be fun! Tony is in charge of finances."

"No see, that's as bad of an idea as letting Steve go on a date with Pepper."

"Hey," Steve frowns. "It was not that bad."

"You got flustered and spilled soup on the waiter."

"Pepper said that wasn't the worst thing they have dealt with." Steve lowered the gun. "Apparently Keith Richards puked on the carpet in the eighties."

Bucky snorted. "That's the worst thing that's happened? Gimme that!" He dives for Steve and wrestles the gun from his hands. Steve makes unmanly noises and Clint laughs. Bucky stands back up with the gun and shoots Clint in the ear.

"Hey!" Clint growls and drops the spatula. "What was that for?"

Bucky cackles. "HALO, asshole."

"That's it. This means war." Clint pulls out his phone and hits the speed dial. "Hey Nat?"

"I'm a little busy right now Barton." The sound of men getting their butts shipped to them on gift wrapped boxes floats over the connection. "What's up?"

"War on the old people. The time has come. Tony armed Steve with a peashooter."

"A what?" Bones break and a man screams. "Is Tony crazy? They'll poke an eye out with those things."

Steve and Bucky groan as one.

Clint snorts. "Not if I beat them to it. Bucky's just pissed that I beat him in HALO for the tenth time and not he's not playing fair."

"That's because you cheat horribly at that game."

Bucky whoops in delight. "I knew it, you cheated!"

"Did not cheat, not against you!" Clint hisses. "Anyway, as of this moment we are at war. Just wanna know which side you are on, babe."

There a flurry of noise on the other end. Then - "the winning side, as always."

Clint hangs up the phone, then regards Steve and Bucky with a cold glare. 

They both realize at the same time why they are glad Clint is actually a good guy. Bucky speaks first. "Uh. Is this because of your hearing aids?"

Clint's smile washes away the ice in his eyes. "Naw just wanted to see if I can intimidate you two." He drops the smile. "But you realize you don't stand a chance against both of us, don't you?"

Now it's Bucky's turn to go cold. "Good luck with that. Howlin’ Commandos. We basically started Special Forces.”

Steve’s smile can cut diamond. “Also, supersoldiers.”

Clint smirks and waggles his brows. “Spies.”

“You’re on.” Bucky elbows Steve in the stomach, never taking his eyes off Clint. “Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.”

“HALO,” Clint murmurs, and Bucky growls.

“Let’s go, Barnes.” Steve’s voice is gravel. “Gotta prepare the troops.”

They leave Clint standing in the kitchen, phone in hand and a grin on his face.


	5. The Hardest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this one was a take on Peggy's death. It just hits too damn close to home, every time I try to add to it I just...can't.

He expected to be busy. 

The call was supposed to come when someone or something was trying to take over a major city or continent or the whole planet. Solar system, even. The call would probably go through JARVIS, who wouldn’t want to disturb him or the Avengers while they were kicking ass and taking names. The AI would take a message and relay it to him after the battle. He’d be so jacked up on adrenaline and the after-fight high would keep him from thinking about it too much. He’d take the message, make the necessary calls, and be able to handle it. That’s how it was supposed to happen.

He was poking around in a stew pot on the stove in his new kitchen, wondering if he should have added another bag of baby carrots to the chicken noodle soup that Sam claimed was a Wilson family secret when his phone rings. It sat on the table behind him, and Natasha picked it up before he can turn around. He was used to her answering his phone calls when she crashed at his apartment. He went back to stirring, humming happily. 

“Steve.”

He turned around, immediately on guard because he’s never heard Natasha sound like that before. Well, yeah, he has. Just before the bunker-buster slammed into the weapons depot/evil mastermind’s lair at Camp Lehigh. As he leaned to take the phone from her, Sam walked into the kitchen, iPod in hand. Steve remembered, just like that, the conversation he’d had with Peggy’s family a week ago, about how she’d been going downhill since fall. How she probably wouldn’t make it to see Easter. His mouth went dry, and his heart kicked hard behind his sternum. His hand wrapped around the slim phone, and he somehow put it to his ear. “This is Steve Rogers.”

As he listened to the grim-voiced man on the other end, he could physically feel the blood leaving his fingers, his nose, his ears. A cold chill whispered up his spine. He couldn’t open his mouth to respond, but it wasn’t like he’d be able to formulate a reply if he could. There weren’t words for this. He fought to keep his breathing normal, fought to push air past the rock in his chest. He stared at the fridge. He couldn’t look at Sam. He couldn’t look at Natasha. He just. Couldn’t. The voice on the phone (son, nephew, uncle, cousin thrice removed, he doesn’t know, never asked, how could he never have  _ asked _ ) stopped. He thinks they are done talking. His jaw works as he tries to summon enough spit to talk. 

“Thank you.” 

That’s all he can say. 

He’s so damned useless. 

The dial tone tells him that the man had hung up. He presses the screen to turn off the call needlessly. It’s all repetition, now. Repetition. Routine. He has to finish the soup. He has to finish the mission. Just like when Bucky. When Bucky. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms loose. His whole body was loose. Numb. He was cold. She was cold, now, too. He shut his eyes, but the images still came. Peggy, lying in bed with transparent orange bottles littering her bedside table. Forgetting that he was sitting right next to her. The coughing. Just like Ma. 

He shook his head violently, clearing his mind. He opened his eyes, and Sam was standing in the same spot, iPod still in his hands. Natasha still sat at the table, but she stood up and slid behind him to stir the soup. He turned with her. 

“I can do that.”

“No, Steve. You need to sit down.” She stood in the way, and he reached around her and snatched the spoon from her hand. Soup splashed, not hitting either of them. Thank God. He stared at her. 

“No. I can do this. Let me.” He blinked and took a deep breath. “Let me do this.”

Natasha looked like she was going to argue, but then Sam was at her shoulder, leading her away from him. He’s talking to her, explaining that he needs space, that they should wait out in the living room for him. He looked at Sam, and Sam looked at him with the look he wore so often around him lately.  _ If you need to talk, I’m here. _

He can’t respond this time. He shook his head and went back to the soup. He’s got to finish the soup. He opens the bag of baby carrots and dumps them into the pot, sending more boiling soup splashing. This time, it lands on his arms, and red burns blossom on his pale Irish skin. He stared at the marks, and watched them fade again. He didn’t feel that. He stirs the soup and stares out the window, into the dark clouds of January and the snow floating in the air. The street lights already illuminated the drifts left by the nor’easter that rolled through a day ago. 


End file.
